


Waiting Game

by Sometimes_I_Write_Things



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Come Inflation, Cum Inflation, Gentle Sex, Large insertions, M/M, Sex Toys, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sometimes_I_Write_Things/pseuds/Sometimes_I_Write_Things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grand Highblood takes the Psiioniic down from the helm and hides him away in his subjuggulator ship, growing to pity him over time. He takes great care to prepare the yellowblood before they can properly pail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Game

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by notexactlyright

He’s strong, this one – stronger than you gave him credit for when you first encountered him. He seemed so fucking helpless all strung up in the helm; nowhere to run, no way to fight. Yet, he had been fighting all along.

The empress was tampering with his life-span; that much you knew well enough. When she gave you a little tour of her impressive new starship, she brought you to see him. She was delighted with him, possibly even infatuated to some degree; but she seemed to delight more in his suffering and what he could do than the actual troll. You, you saw the small flicker of fire in his eyes, the will to be his own and not anyone else’s burning behind the exhaustion and despair. You knew strength when you saw it and you respected it, admired it in the troll despite the mustard swill pumping through his veins.

He was shocked when you took him, eyes suspicious as you removed all the tentacles and plugs from his body. You carried him from the ship, his weak and exhausted body huddled to your chest as you made the trip from the empress’s ship to your own. You made sure to cover your tracks, releasing a few of your prisoners onto the imperial ship to distract the cameras and guards as you moved. It would seem as if it were the intruders were the ones to take him, leaving you to get away on your subjuggulator ship with the yellowblood.

You nursed him back to health, hiding him away in your block to which only you had access. He wouldn’t answer you when you spoke to him, just gaze at you with a blank, stoic expression. You figured that was alright; you could still sense that small flame of defiance in him despite his expressionless eyes peering at you. Still, you felt something pained in you for his seemingly emotionless demeanor. Had he always been so withdrawn, or had his time at the helm made him that way?

When he was finally well enough to speak, it was the funniest shit you’ve ever have happen to you.

You had asked him for his name, as you did every night you came to him. He had turned those blank eyes to you and simply said, “Despite what authority you think your title and reputation give you, I refuse to give you my name. You will no doubt take everything you can from me like simple-minded monster I know you are; I should like to keep my name at the very least.”

You had stared for a moment, taken aback and shocked before you fell into a fit of chortles. No motherfucker had ever had the globes to outright deny you in such a way; to know the difference in power between them and you yet still refuse you, and in such a way. And here he was, calm and sure in his words without a morsel of fear to be sensed in him. It was just so motherfucking hilarious! You knew then and there that you made the right choice in taking him away for your own.

Over the sweep, he grew accustomed to you and eventually even grew fond of you. He learned you weren’t going to treat him as a prisoner, but a guest. He was suspicious of your intentions, and rightly so given your reputation; but you didn’t have it in you to be cruel to him. Something about him called to something soft and gentle in you; his small stature, his seemingly emotionless demeanor and especially his tendency to sass you (a creature so much larger than he with the physical power to snap him like a twig) tugged at your pusher in all the right ways.

It took you three perigrees to learn his name, and he to learn yours. He realized the difference in how you treated him and how you treated others. He could get away with sassing and disobeying you while others would have their limbs torn off for lesser offenses than his. Despite how you would snarl and growl at him for his disrespect, his consequences were little more than a slap on the wrist compared to what other trolls got from you. He came to realize this difference over time and your pity for him, and pitied you in turn; especially after you saw to spoiling him and soothing his nightmares with the voodoos He allowed you his name, and you gave him yours. The kiss you shared with him in that moment warmed you to your very core.

At the current moment, you’re on your way back to your personal quarters. You had just finished early evening mass and now you had a few hours to yourself before you had a meeting with the high ranking subjuggulators in your fleet. When you enter your block, you remove your vest and arm-guards, leaving you in only your pants as you already walk around bare-foot to begin with. No need for all that troublesome shit around your feet to hinder your movement.

He’s sleeping when you enter the secret back room you keep him in. There’s a book strewn open next to the ridiculously large pillow pile he lays in, so you figure he must have fallen asleep right there instead of hauling his little ass to coon. Dumb, beautiful fucker he is. He’s squiring, his face scrunched up and making this small fretting sounds. He’s having those death nightmares again; ones where motherfuckers all scream at him and stress his pan something terrible.

You approach and kneel near his head, carding your large fingers through his black hair as you seep into his thinkpan. The inky tendrils of your voodoos waft over him and smooth over his pan where you feel the active throbbing of his psychic abilities. His features loosen bit by bit as you quiet his mind, face going slack and calm within a matter of minutes before his mismatched eyes blink open. You hadn’t meant to wake him, but you supposed it was alright when you see him smile just a little, the barest curve to his lips that set your bloodpusher aflutter.

“You’re early.”

“I’ve got some time before I’ve got to haul my ass to a motherfuckin’ gathering. Thought I’d come and tend to you before I got busy with the mirthful night.”

“You spoil me, beloved.”

You give a soft hum and smile for him, a gentle expression gracing your features as you lean down to kiss him upside down. His lips move slow and sluggish against your own, sleep still lingering on him. Your voodoos in his pan may be another contributing factor, you suppose. No need for them now that he’s awake, so you pull them back into yourself and kiss press your lips at his again and again.

The Psiionic is purring for you by the time you slip your tongue into his mouth, a contented sound that comes easy in his drowsy state. You return the sound and tangle your tongue with his, trying to get the tip to slide between the split in his oral muscle. He’s always liked that, you found, and he still shivers like always as you finally manage to wrestle tongue into that spot and undulate your unnaturally long tongue right on the apex of the fork. His hands come up to tangle in your mane that acts as a canopy around the two of you, anchoring you to him as you feel and taste each other’s mouths.

He gasps when you pull back to break the kiss, his grip tightening in your hair in a weak attempt to pull you back to his mouth. You give a breathy chuckle and take his hands away from your hair with your own, pressing a kiss to his fingertips before releasing him and shuffling around to hover parallel over him.

Your matesprit blinks up at you with those sleepy red and blue eyes, his face and body lax and vulnerable under you and you run your tongue languidly over your top lip. He’s wearing one of your shirts, a t-shirt you wear for lounging about your block, and it pulls at something primal and predatory in you to see him wearing it. Your fingers clench and unclench where they’re planted on either side of his head, the fabric of the pillows ripping under your claws.

You want to fuck him. You have wanted to fuck him for a long time now.   
Shifting your balance to one hand, you bring your other hand down to slip under the waistband of his boxers and brush your fingers over his nook. You’re pleased to find the toy you put in his nook is still there, keeping him stretched for you. When you rub your fingers over the spread lips of his nook and press, he arches up into your touch and trills softly.

What a lovely sound. He doesn’t make those types of noises very often and it always makes something hot and hungry rise up in you whenever he makes sounds like that.

“You kept it in. Good motherfucker.”

“Of… Of course I did.”

The difference in size between you and your yellowblood-lover is nearly staggering. When standing next to each other, The Psiioniic barely reached your chest. You’re practically twice his height and three times his breadth; his body small and slender as yours is large and broad. Such a tiny thing he is, compared to you; and you had yet to give him your bulge for fear of breaking him. Hence, the toys you give him to stretch him out gradually.

Cupping your palm over his crotch, you grind the heel of your hand against the bottom of the toy inside him. He gasps and rolls his hips up into your hand, his bulges unsheathing one at a time and pushing at your palm in a search for friction. His lengths are hot and tantalizing against your hand, a signal of his arousal that has your mouth watering and your own bulge slipping out of its sheathe.

After a few more moments of grinding and stirring the toy in his nook, you slowly remove it from him. The toy is about as long as your bulge, but not as thick. Your mate will still be spread taut on your girth; but going by your past experience with filling him up with various objects, you know he relishes in the stretch. 

Your matesprit gives a soft whine as he’s left empty and gaping before you, spreading his legs wider for your viewing pleasure. His nook flutters and his bulges slap and twist with each other as you gaze between your lover’s legs and your bulge twists in your pants in a desperate attempt for friction. He looks absolutely delectable, and you tell him so as you remove the rest of your clothing. You’ve waited so long to take him, you can hardly bare to wait any longer.

Setting the toy aside, you take his hips into your hands and position yourself so that your bulge licks over his nook. The tip catches on the edges as it flicks over his leaking opening, sending dull sparks of pleasure up your bulge and a twitch in the muscles of your hips. The yellowblood trembles in your grasp, but just barely; his breathing shaking slightly as he inhales and exhales. He’s been wanting this for as long as you have.

Biting on your bottom lip, you press your hips forward. Your bulge wriggles slowly into the inviting, fleshy cavern, gradually opening him up to your throbbing tendril. You keep your eyes trained on him as you enter him, watching it contort with discomfort, pain and then pleasure. It’s fascinating to watch it all play out on his face, enchanting, even, to see his normally unmoving features tighten then go slack before going back to an expression of pain. You find he’s most beautiful when he shows what he’s feeling.

When you reach the split in his nook, you grin down at him and angle bend over him, angling yourself so that your bulge prods at the fork you have yet to stretch well enough to take you. Your lover inhales sharply and sets his claws on your forearms, his brow furrowed as he sends a reprimanding look your way.

“Get your chill on, motherfucker. I’m just teasing at you a little.”

“I believe I’ve had quite enough of your teasing,” he breathes at you, trying to keep stern with you as his voice shakes. “Do get on with it.”

“Motherfuckin’ eager~” you croon, releasing his hips to bend over him and wrap your thick arms around him. You hold him flush against your body as you angle your hips just so, your bulge changing course to enter the much more pliant fork in the yellowblood’s nook. You hiss as the tightness really starts to take you, half your bulge wrapped up in his snug heat. It takes a real effort on your part not to surge your hips forward and pound his insides to a pulp, but you manage well enough.

Slowly, you remind yourself as you slip another inch inside. You have to be gentle with him. You don’t want to break your flushed yellow brother. You pity him far too much to risk his well-being for your own savage desires. What you want to give him is softer, something far sweeter than your typical brutality. A troll as enduring and pitiable as he is deserves your tenderness.

By the time you’re fully sheathed inside him, he’s clinging to you and shaking. You shiver now and again yourself, being finally fully engulfed in his constricted, wet flesh making a purr kick up deep in your chest. A soft trill trails on the end of every breath your lover puffs over your shoulder and the prehensile tip of your bulge flicks inside him when you feel his forked tongue loll out to slide over your skin.

You return the gesture, curling your back a bit to tuck your face into the crook of his neck and lap over the jumping line of his pulse. Your purr distorts into a breathy sort of growl every time you open your mouth to lick him; and you wonder about how you’ve never heard yourself make such a sound for a moment until his nook distracts you with a flutter. It’s firm, rhythmic clench surrounding you in wet, soft flesh. Your bulge twitches at that and gives a single roll at that despite your best efforts to hold it still.

You hope he’s ready, because you cannot wait any longer.

Giving a guttural growl, you begin grinding your hips against his, rolling your bulge over in the tight confines of his nook. You revel in the way his body takes you despite the difference in size between you, how he takes every inch of your bulge that’s nearly as long as his arm from elbow to claw and thick enough to feel his delicate walls pull taut around you. He takes it all and even then, his body begs for more; his lithe frame rolling against yours as his bulges attempt to lash between the firm press of your bodies.

Shifting your hold on him, you grip his backside in your hands and pull him down on yourself in an effort to reach deeper into him. Your bulge coils and twists its way further into his body, and Messiahs you’re melting. That earns you a throaty groan and claws raking over your shoulders and down your arms as he scrambles with his hold around your neck. Somewhere underneath all carnal pleasure and the burning desire to flood him with your color, you find his franticness so fucking endearing.

The air is thick with the smell of sweat and sex accompanied by your resonating purrs and growls and his trills and moans muffled by his mouth on your shoulder. Despite his small stature compared to your own, he feels like he’s all around you; hot and smothering motherfucking everywhere! You could drown in him and burn in his passion at the same time with how much he makes you feel, how much he warms your pusher and scorches every single nerve in your body.

As loathed as you are to have this moment end, you can feel yourself nearing the climax. Every time you roll your hips up tight against him, your nook spasms and drools, slicking your thighs with translucent-purple fluid as your legs shake with both the pleasure and effort to keep your hips firmly against his. You find you’re holding yourself as deep as you can longer and longer every time your hips circle back around just to feel his depths quivering around you. Your beloved can’t be much further from the finish-line himself, his breaths coming quicker and his claws digging deeper into your flesh to draw blood. You can’t possibly last when he rips into you like that, but you find you don’t have to when his walls clamp down around you.

His voice is a glorious sound as he cries out your name, clinging to you and trembling hard as he spills his yellow between you and down over your bulge. It’s the thought that you know your bulge will reek of him after this that finishes you along with the smothering convulsions trapping your lashing length. You utter a long, rolling growl as you hold his body fast against you, your bulge slowly releasing your load as your nook spills over with a splash of material.

The two of you cling to each other as you rock and buck against each other’s bodies, either not noticing or not caring about the lump rising in his belly between you two. You vaguely note with pride that the bump is your material filling him up and forcing room in his body, something that satisfies you on a wholly different level than the pleasure slowly dying down in you.

He seems to come down before you, squirming a bit in discomfort and weakly batting at your shoulders in an effort to get you to take your weight off him. You oblige and smirk when you look down at the sizable lump that’s slightly tinted purple. That’s because of you. All of that, he took and willingly accepted into his body and judging by the yellow flush all the way to his ears, he must find some sort of pleasure in that as well. Or perhaps he’s embarrassed? It’s hard to tell when he stops making expressions.

He hisses softly when you caress the mound in his abdomen, his nook giving a weak ripple around your bulge still inside him that brings a pleased hum from you.

“Are you going let me drain this or not?”

“Think I might keep you like this for a bit, my mirthfully beloved.”

“I see. And how long were you planning on keeping my organs squished by your ridiculously large bulge and your even more ridiculous amount of material?”

“Just until I’m done appreciating the motherfuckin sight of you all full of me on the inside”

“That does not tell me anything regarding how long I will have to stay here.”

“Honk~”


End file.
